Corellian Winter Passages
by Lady Angel
Summary: 70 years after ANH, Luke spends some time alone, mourning his bondmate. Last of the Corellia Series, so read the others first. (Hreik and Hren will have their own story soon) Slash warning, past tense only.


Title: Corellian Winter Passages   
  
Author: Angel   
  
E-mail: valarltd@hotmail.com   
  
Usual Disclaimer   
  
Death warning, slash warning.   
  
Timeline: 70 years after ANH   
  
Last in the Corellia Series. *** Winter Passages on Corellia 2001 Angelia Sparrow *** The waves lapped at the base of the boulder where the old man sat, a sollak wood staff across his knees. The breeze, chill enough on the land, bit through the layers of clothing he wore with frigid dampness here by the sea. He drew the greatcoat closer around him, letting his gloved hands fall deeper into the slightly too-long sleeves.   
  
"It's cold again, Han. I miss you. I can sense you as part of the Force, but that doesn't keep me warm, out here or at night," he whispered. "Old bones." A wry smile crossed his face.   
  
The sea still discomfited him. Endless water as far as his failing eyes could see. Even after all these decades, he still dreamed of sand and binary heat. Han had loved the sea almost as much as he'd loved the stars, and it was here, where solid earth gave way to bottomless water, that Luke felt the closest to his memory.   
  
The gray clouds hung low, turning the water dark. Luke shut his eyes and listened to the waves, remembering many nights he had slept on Han's chest, listening to his mate's heartbeat. "The blood of our bodies, kin to the waters," he said softly, matching the rhythm of the waves. He had said the traditional words ten years ago when he and his sons had returned the ashes of his bondmate to the sea, as was the family custom.   
  
He burrowed deeper into Han's old greatcoat, the leather cutting the wind, the nerf-fleece lining adding what warmth it could. He wished that his mate was in the coat, and had wrapped it around them both, as he had often done in years past. It seemed like he was never warm these days. It had taken years for him to become acclimated to the cooler climates away from Tatooine. But he remembered Han, always there, always ready to warm him, sometimes even at risk of his own life. Even now, his ancient coat helped, but it could not stop the cold.   
  
He stared at the ocean, and let it soothe him. Sitting here, with nothing but sky and sea, was a little like flying. "Chewie and the boys brought me here. I can't see well enough to fly anymore. The med droids say I'm too old for surgery to repair my eyes, and even the Force doesn't help. I'm glad you were able to fly until the end."   
  
He remembered the last flight. They'd made a quick hop to Silan to pick up some things for Leia's granddaughter Dala's, wedding. Han and Chewie had flown in their usual heedless way, with Luke as navigator. They'd flown that way thousands of times over the sixty-five years Luke had known them. The Wookiee, at 300, was in the prime of his life, and handled most of the work.   
  
Han had, as usual, programmed all the coordinates, the big hands moving over the control panel slower than they had in years past, but with a surety that Luke would never match. The Falcon was still Han's lady, and no one else would ever love her quite as well. Luke tried for a time, but in the end, had passed her entirely to Chewbacca.   
  
He'd reached out and pulled the hyperdrive levers, only to fall back in the pilot seat with a gasp, clutching his chest, his aged body unable to tolerate the transition to hyperspace. Chewbacca had handled the jump, and Luke had carried Han back to their cabin. The med couch could do nothing for him, and there had been time for one last kiss before he was gone.   
  
Their grown sons, Hreik and Hren, had met Luke on Silan. The boys had taken charge of the errand for their cousin, and notified the whole family. Luke had let Han's niece Astri, still matriarchal at 80, take over the arrangements for a Passing ceremony on Corellia. Luke had made similar arrangements for himself with Astri's daughter Vica, who had become matriarch in her turn a few years ago. Now, Luke made the trip every winter, to stare over the grey water, and talk of things he could say to no one else.   
  
"We're grandfathers again, Han. How about that? Hren and his second wife just had a baby. His third is getting impatient for her girl to be born. This one's a fine boy, all blonde like his mom and dad. They named him Anakin. He has your sea-storm eyes."   
  
His younger son had taken to Corellian ways with a zeal, and lived in Elka's House (the title had formalized after the death of the formidable woman twenty years before) with his cousins, happily contributing to the ever-growing Solo clan. He and his three wives had four children, and a fifth coming. Hren had a flair for brewing that none had seen since Hend had Passed. Hreik had taken the Jedi Academy, and turned it into a multi-planet complex with satellite links to every corner of the galaxy. Luke was proud of his boys and his grandchildren.   
  
He sat on the damp rock, feeling the cold gnaw at him, stiffening his joints, making every breath burn in his throat. The boys would fuss over him if they knew what he was up to. They thought he'd just gone into the woods. As long as he carried his lightsaber, and the staff Han had given him on their last Renewal date, they wouldn't object, even if they did worry about his ability to wield the weapon.   
  
"If you're gonna be an old wizard, kid, you need to look the part," Han had told him, presenting him with the polished wood. Luke had laughed then, and kissed him breathless. Forty-nine Renewals had come and gone then, and they were still together. Had Han lived another month, it would have been fifty. Luke turned the durasteel ring that still rode on his left index finger.   
  
"It's getting late, my love. I need to be home before dark, or the boys will be levitating half the planet to find me. You know how unstoppable they are together. And watching out for his dear old senile father has become Hreik's favorite hobby. I miss you. It's still cold."   
  
He rose, leaning heavily on the staff, and stared out at the water. In the Force, he could feel the last vestiges of the consciousness that had once been his mate. Even dead, Han was stubborn, and was resisting being subsumed in the larger Force. "Hold on to your identity, Han. I won't be much longer."   
  
"O-oh-na!" Luke summoned the Threefold Lament from the very bottom of his being, and it rang across the waves, faint echoes rippling away. "Once, as you taught me, to open the gates of the next world." He took a breath. "O-oh-na!" He listened to the keening echoes fade. "Twice, to carry the dead through." Drawing on the end of his failing energy, he sent the third. "O-oh-na!" He recovered, breathing hard. "Three times, to close the gates."   
  
Han had taught him the Men's Lament at Elka's Passing, when he'd listened to the eerie, steady drone of "O-oh-na, o-oh-na" from his nieces, punctuated by the lower male voices rising in series of three cries. Now, this too had become part of his ritual. He rose to go, and, bracing himself on the stout staff, turned back for a last look at the Sea. "O-oh-na!" The cry seemed to come from the Force itself, and it lingered over the water, dissipating into the foam. "Open the gates, my love. The med-droids say it won't be long until I come to you. Then you'll wrap yourself around me, as you always did when I was cold at night, and we'll dream together, forever."   
  
He made his careful way back to the House where Chewbacca and his sons awaited him. *end* 


End file.
